


Choosing

by imaginary_golux



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:37:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kore chooses.  Written for Porn Battle XI.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choosing

Goddesses, of course, do not need to eat, and Kore is a goddess, even if she is only a minor one – only her mother’s shadow – and so she eats nothing in Hades’ dark realm for days upon days, while the shadows of the dead wait upon her and the dark lord of the dead broods and watches her and offers neither violence nor threat of violence, though she lies entirely within his power.

At night she dreams – for even goddesses dream, sometimes – of what it might be like to bed the dark and brooding lord of the dead, whose hands were cold when he seized her out of the sunlight, and whose eyes are dark and unreadable. But when she is dreaming, she cannot help compare him to lecherous Zeus or violent Apollo or drunken Dionysus, and, strangely, the comparisons are favorable to dark, silent Hades, who at least is – slightly – kind. She thinks that he would be gentle in bed, that his cold fingers would seek out her tender places and make her moan with pleasure, that those thin lips, perhaps, would kiss more sweetly for their thinness. She tries not to remember these dreams when awake.

When she is told that her mother has sued for her freedom, for Kore to have fresh air and green flowers and ripe wheat, she almost leaps at it; but the dark lord of the dead looks at her with his unreadable eyes – which, perhaps, she has learned to read – and says, only, “Choose as pleases you, and I will submit.” And in that moment she makes her choice, and reaches out for a pomegranate from the tree beside them, and takes a bite; and through the taste of sweet juice in her mouth, she says, “While I am here, I will be called Persephone.” And then she kisses him.

His lips _are_ sweet, though perhaps that is the pomegranate lingering upon her tongue, and his hands are gentle as he cups her full breasts, strokes her hips, lays her wonderingly upon the soft ground. His eyes are no longer unreadable: she knows what he is thinking, because what he is thinking is that she is beautiful, and she glories in it. His own body is thin and pale, and though he is strong he is not beautiful – not as golden Zeus or fiery Apollo – and she thinks that she loves him more for that, and reaches out to embrace him. He comes into her arms like a man coming home, and into her body like a man reaching paradise, and it does not hurt at all – it is sweet, like the pomegranate, like his kisses, like his love, and he calls her Persephone when he comes.


End file.
